They'd BETTER Be
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: Some newcomers are arriving to the world meetings - and the world is certainly going to have a field day when they find out its Alfred and Arthur's twins, the "Virgin" Islands. Names aside, this might get messy.
1. Prologue

Alex and Andrew were some hot muddascunts on the club scene. At least, that's what the passing glances and awed whispers told them. Or the giggling confessions of girls whose blushes were painted on.

Most people knew them only as the Twins. They were regulars at hundreds of oily black back rooms, but they never stayed long enough to make more of an impression than heat, hot, blonde, heybabywantmetotakeyouhome?

That was Normal.

This morning, the sun came up on a sight that was not Normal.

Last night, Alex and Andrew had taken the truck and driven down the half-paved neon streets as they always had on the weekends, but they hadn't stopped. They drove right into the jungle and kept going until they got to the edge of anything that could possibly be considered a road and then they had stopped the car, gotten out, and walked through the black-green trees until the moon-struck surface of still water blinded their eyes. A flat pool, small and clear and completely isolated. Alex laid down the blanket they had brought with them and silently, they sat.

The moon was unbearably clear and weeping when Andrew finally spoke, pushing his brother to the ground and laying on his chest.

"Lets just run away."

Alex had the gall to laugh, a full-bodied guffaw that rattled the teen perched on his stomach and caused Andrew to gasp and smack his brother's bare arm.

"Shut up! I'm being serious."

That only made Alex laugh harder and so Andrew huffed and bit him on the arm. That made Alex squawk. And laugh even more.

"Y-you bite like a baby l-lizard!"

Yes, Alex definitely took after his dad. Andrew, on the other hand, took after his mum – maybe not as grumpy, but certainly less tolerant of idiocy.

Although Arthur would probably kill him the next time he was called "mum". Alfred would laugh just as loudly as Alex was laughing now. God, what a messed up family.

Scowling and realizing he was going to get no sympathy, Alex rolled off his brother's stomach and onto the blanket, burying his nose in the coarse fibers and smelling the dew-cold ground beneath.

"Why now?" he said quietly. "Why do they insist on doing this to us now?"

"You act like you've never been off the islands!" Alex said, turning onto his side so he could keep up the conversation. His long, straight blonde hair flopped in his face; it was so flat and thick he could never get it to behave. "Uncle Den used to take us up to his house all the time, to show off to the Scary Guy and Santa. And Francis used to baby-sit us a lot, too, until he and what's-his-name got married."

"Yeah, but…" _But I don't want to change what we have going. I don't want to see the world. I want to stay on my island. _"But we were younger, then."

"And now that I am older I want to see some hot foreign girls."

Andrew smacked his brother. Alex just grinned at him. "Well, now that the states are all grown up and on their own, I guess mum and dad think its time to put a little more focus on us. And that's gotta be nice, right? We'll start to get a little more independence, get out in the world… just think. Our first world meeting tomorrow is going to set us up for the rest of our lives. Maybe one day they'll let us become actually independent."

Andrew just shook his head.

"I don't wanna leave…" he mumbled.

"Don't be scared. I'll be right here, just like I always am," Alex said back, kissing Andrew's forehead and wrapping his arms around him. "Go to sleep. We have a plane to board tomorrow."


	2. We Need A Better Map

**To be perfectly honest with you, I have no idea what I am doing. I mean… there is definitely a plot, but… but how did the Balkans start to find their way into this? **

**Also, please excuse any and all cultural/ethnic/language fails and my obligatory use of google translate Croatian. Oh dear.**

* * *

The conference was Absolute Chaos.

Sure, they had been told to expect a Little Chaos, on the plane when Arthur briefed them. They had been prepared for that. Actually, they'd been prepared (by stories upon stories from Alfred and Francis and Denmark) for some Medium-Level Chaos. But this was rather a shock.

They didn't know a lot of the nations more than short bios and pictures from their dossiers (oh God, they had dossiers, this conference was business) but from what Andrew could tell (and he had his eyes firmly closed as much as he possibly could) almost the entire world was there. Uncle Denmark waved at them from a seat in one corner, one arm looped around the Scary Guy's shoulders and the other around … Norway's, that was his name... neck. A younger boy, much younger than the twins, broke away from the Scary Guy's hold and began to pester a teenaged nation who must be Latvia. The younger kid wasn't in on the nations list, though. Latvia looked scared out of his mind, especially when a very large, very happy-looking country leaned over him – That was Russia. That much was obvious. Francis was over with Spain and Southern Italy, currently with a hand down the Spanish nation's pants as the he babbled obliviously on about how "cute" the lower part of Italy looked. Alex and Andrew exchanged glances. They saw this behavior in dance clubs. They hadn't expected it at the UN.

Suddenly, a commotion could be heard above the general hubbub. There was the sound of splintering wood and an entire _table _split completely in _half_. The twins whirled to find a very pretty, very angry-looking girl with a large cast-iron frying pan charging out of the wreckage and after a platinum-blonde man. "Give me back my camera, you non-existant creep!" she screeched. Alex stared.

"She's hot," he said, pointing a thumb at her. Andrew buried his face in his dossier and tried to become invisible. This was just… a little much…

"ALRIGHT ENOUGH." A very loud, very imperious voice shouted. It could be clearly heard above the din, but no one, not even their parents (currently, apparently, trying to beat up on Uncle Francis) paid it any mind.

"VASH!" the voice shouted again. Immediately, gunshots rang out. The twins let out a concerted yelp and ducked. The room fell silent.

"Thank you!"

The voice belonged to a very large, blonde man who stood at the front of the room. "Now may I call this meeting to order?"

Grumbled complaints echoed around the room, and a Middle Eastern country in the back offered "No you may not!" but everyone began shuffling to find their seats. The twins looked around in a panic at the names on the desks around the room. Their parents were nowhere to be seen.

"You lost?" a helpful voice at Andrew's elbow supplied. It was a large girl with very, very prominent… breasts… Alex immediately shoved his brother out of the way and shook her hand.

"Yes, yes, very lost indeed. I'm Alex, you know, the US Virgin Islands, and this is my brother." Andrew noticed that he was never introduced. But that was just the way it went. Meanwhile, Alex was pouring on the charm, all flashing teeth and heybaby. "We're here with our parents. Its our first meeting."

The girl had the decency to blush with all the attention she was being offered. "I'm Katyusha, the Ukraine." Andrew could tell she was really quite the motherly type. "I remember hearing you two would come. Since you two are protectorates, you may sit with your parents, or you may sit over here –" She gestured at a long table in the upper corner of the chamber. It was meant to set ten or so, but there was only a young girl and a bouncy-looking boy seated there now. "There are a few other protectorates and states who come regularly, and they sit up there."

Alex' attention was immediately drawn to the girl in the corner. She was sketching in a notebook, a look of intense concentration on her face. "Thank you very much, ma'am." He kissed her hand. Oh yeah, he was headed up there; there was no way he was going to sit near his mum and dad. And of course Andrew was along for the ride.

Alex bounded up to the two in the corner. "Hello!" he announced. The boy looked up. The girl didn't.

"_Pozdrav_! Oh, _jebi, mislim_… I mean, hi! Oh man, I'm so nervous." Still, he flashed a warm smile at the approaching islands. His hair was dirty-blonde and a strange, heart-shaped curl stood at attention from its side. His eyes were blueblueblueblueblue and Andrew felt his breath catch at the sight. "I bet you two speak English, right? Because you came in with America and England so I bet you did – are you two states? I've never met any of the states before; actually, I've never met England either although America has stopped by a few times. I'm Danica, by the way!" he stuck out a hand. Alex was so bowled over by the enthusiastic response that he didn't move at first, leaving Andrew to grasp the proffered appendage. "I'm Croatia – this is my first meeting here and I'm supposed to sit at my desk but this is Renata's first visit too and she has to sit up here because she's Dalmatia and only sort of my state I guess even though she's my sister so I figured that I'd sit up here the first time to keep her company. Besides, its scary down there."

Renata, in the corner, waved a hand, not looking up from her sketchbook. Milk-cocoa waves of hair framed her face, stopping just above her thin shoulderblades. "Excuse my brother," she mumbled. "He takes after mama."

"Who's your mom?" asked Alex, sliding into place next to her. Andrew resisted the urge to hit him over the head with something. The way his brother acted... Sometimes being baby-sat by Francis could turn out badly.

"My _mama_. He hates being 'mom'. Its Feliciano, Northern Italy," she pointed the chewed-up eraser of her pencil down at the an excitable-looking nation sharing desk space with Southern Italy, near the front of the room. "And my _vati_ is Germany."

"So, which states _are_ you?" Danica asked, gripping Andrew's hand earnestly and causing him to blush at the sudden contact. Really, this was strangely uncharted territory. No one had _ever_ been this… forward… with him before. It was always half-painted girls and giggleblushdon'tyouwantme.

"Errr… we're… we're not states… I'm the British Virgin Islands, Andrew, and this is the US Virgin Islands."

"Shouldn't you … I dunno…_ not_ be blonde or something?"

It took Andrew a moment to process the statement.

"Oh. Um. I don't know. Yeah. Most of my citizens are black… but … I don't know – genetics? My parents are America and England, so…"

Danica nodded as if that explained everything. "Yeah, everyone says I ought to look more Eastern but I don't."

Meanwhile, behind her book, Renata was giggling.

"What's so funny?" asked Alex, desperately trying to initiate some sort of conversation with her.

"Pff… you guys are the _Virgin_ Islands. Gawd, that had better be a misnomer or something."

Alex and Andrew colored deeply.

"No, no way, I'm no virgin!" said Alex loudly. About half of the Latin American countries turned around to stare at him.

Renata laughed. "But you _are_ stupid. I like you."

Blessedly, it was at that moment that the meeting began.


	3. Am I Sensing Love Interests?

**This is dedicated to **_**sabacat**_** for her relentless encouragement. Also, to Miyoko. Cuz, you know, they are our kids.**

**Quick A/N and I'd be so pleased if you'd read it?**

**I was kinda loath to continue this story, because it involves a few characters that are kind of controversial. I would like to point out that **_**the ideas expressed in this fic are not necessarily that of the author**_**. This is a work of fiction, and as such, all I want is for my characters to act realistically. If that involves a historical bias, that is not me being ignorant; rather, it is the **_**characters**_** being ignorant. **

**;_; please understand that and don't say mean things. **

* * *

So Alex was officially distracted. Figured – a seed of attention from a pretty girl and he was gone.

Also figured that he would completely ignore Andrew, even knowing how nervous he had been coming to the meeting. How nervous he still was. _Fukin' seeds_ he hated his brother on occasion. There must be … two hundred nations out there, listening to some sort of opening remarks from Germany. Oh god. He was so out of his league. He was going to die here – of embarrassment or stress or just not being able to handle being _three thousand miles from home_ somewhere in the middle of Europe. Because apparently his _mumu_ of a brother didn't have the same incomprehensible hangups that Andrew did –

"Hey, is this your first meeting?"

Andrew's head turned with a snap so hard he might have given himself whiplash, startled as easily as he always was, a bird in the trees. He found himself again caught in that blueblue a thousand times blue that sang from the eyes of the boy next to him. Danica. His name was Danica.

"…eh eh?" Andrew mumbled, unable to make his brain switch tacks fast enough to come up with a proper response.

"Was my English bad?" Danica asked, eyes narrowing in worry. "I just wanted to know if this was your first meeting. You seem really nervous." He put his hand over one of Andrew's squeezing it. "You'll be okay, though. I mean, at least you don't have to talk or give presentations or anything. I had to, before – I don't today but I did last time and I was really, really scared but no one was really listening, anyway, so I guess it turned out okay. So you'll be okay."

Andrew was unable to follow Danica's logic. But his hand was warm. That was good. That made sense.

"Yes, it's my first meeting," Andrew admitted carefully. He was speaking as formally as he could, perhaps to offset his brother, who was currently a buzz of background noise, talking to Renata in a thick Creole accent that she was clearly ignoring. Alex mistakenly believed the slang turned girls on. In reality, it made him hard to understand. Which, actually, was probably a plus.

Danica squeezed his hand, smiling all big and innocent. "Don't worry so much. You'll get wrinkles like my Vati." Warm fingers brushed along Andrew's creased forehead, trying to smooth away the lines. Andrew went cross-eyed, trying to see them. Then he turned his head away, trying to focus back on the meeting. His hand was still trapped.

"Hey, come on," Danica said again, softer this time, less obnoxiously peppy and more reassuring. "At least you have a friend."

Andrew didn't turn. "No, I don't. My brother abandoned me to ineffectually hit on your sister."

"I meant me."

Oh.

Andrew swiveled back to look Danica in the eyes – always, always caught back in those eyes – and his blush turned so burning red that it hurt.

So he did what he always did when it got too hot in the clubs or the crowds got too big or it was just too much:

"I – I have to go to the bathroom – I –"

Mumbled like an idiot, tripped over his chair, and fled the room.

* * *

Andrew was able to leave the meeting without anyone paying any attention to him at all, thanks to his own parents starting some sort of knock-down-drag-out with Uncle Francis over _cooking_ of all things. Things looked like they were getting violent, and cousin Hong-Kong was taking bets – safe to say, everyone's attention was focused elsewhere.

Or not.

Andrew had just entered the blue-grey carpeted hallway and breathed a sigh of relief in the chemical, circulated air con, leaning against the wall and trying to marshal his thoughts. Then, the last voice he really wanted to hear at the moment:

"Oh, good, you're still here!"

There was Danica again. Andrew stared at him in disbelief. He _followed_ him?

"You really don't look okay and I thought maybe you were a little sick or something and if this is your first meeting you could get lost on the way to the bathroom and then throw up in the hallway," Danica said, obviously by way of explanation. He looked almost… sheepish, as if he knew his excuse was just that, an excuse. Andrew's head was spinning, wondering why the heck someone had taken an interest in him so quickly, and, more importantly, why it made him feel so good.

Okay, he knew why. Because he was scared and his brother was ignoring him and maybe it was nice that someone took an interest in him. However, when that someone took his wrist and began to lead him down the hall, presumably towards the bathroom, he got a little uncomfortable.

"No, er, rather, s'fine…" Andrew mumbled, knowing he was hard to understand. He was so agitated that his mum's accent was starting to show in him, not to mention a liberal helping of Creole.

Danica smiled again, hopefully. "Just let me show you, 'kay? It's an excuse for me to leave the meeting."

Well, Andrew couldn't really argue with that. He let himself be led to the bathroom – and, just when it was about to get awkward, Danica smiled, waved, and bounced away without a word.

Andrew entered the bathroom, a little dazed. He wasn't sure what to make of the kid.

He leaned over the sink for a long time, running the water cold and just sticking his hands under it, trying to imagine that it was some natural spring, some icy waterfall. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering what the hell he was doing – ditching his first meeting, letting himself be dragged along by some Balkan kid, leaving his brother to sink or swim, being generally immature and doing whatever the heck he felt like…

Well, actually, he was probably just acting like his father…

Andrew was interrupted from his musings by the vague sound of commotion, quickly followed by the interruption of China and Russia entering the bathroom. China was yelling at the top of his lungs in rapid-fire Mandarin, and Russia was only laughing – albeit in a creepy sort of chuckling way that made Andrew's hair stand on edge. This was followed by the bouncing form of South Korea, who was immediately seen to be the cause of what might be Chinese swearing; he was mercilessly groping China's chest. Following _that_ was cousin Hong Kong, expressionless as ever, still somehow seeming about ready to murder someone.

No one noticed Andrew, and he realized that now would probably be a good time to leave the bathroom. He slipped out as Scary Guy, then Uncle Whats-his-name entered.

The halls were crowded now, with nations speaking every conceivable language. A man in a mask currently had his arms around a shorter nation in a keffiyeh, Santa was chatting with Uncle Denmark, and Uncle Francis was fluttering around the groups, making lilting small talk and getting generally shunned. It was obviously the first break of the day.

Andrew cast his eyes around the hall for his brother and maybe, just maybe, Danica, but he saw neither. He also wasn't really sure how to get back to the conference chamber. So he started walking.

He was walking in the opposite direction of the crowd, he realized belatedly as he turned a corner, and then another. He wouldn't admit it to himself, but it was probably on purpose. There were just so many nations, so many _people_. He couldn't quite handle it. It was a little too much.

So he walked instead until he got to a glass door at the end of a seemingly-deserted hallway. The glass lead out into the cold, grey European morning, into a bleak grey-green office park with a lawn circled by a high cinderblock wall, and very little else.

Andrew stepped outside, craving the air.

The lawn was tiny and kidney-shaped, part of it stretching around a corner. He began walking in that direction, feeling a bit like an explorer – or a trespasser - when he heard voices. He didn't recognize the language, but he recognized the intent.

"...Ja sam ga imao do ovdje sa svojim igrama. Prestati igrati nevin. Mi smo svi bili žrtve!"

" Заустави дипломатске срање! То је твоја кривица–"

He wasn't sure what they were fighting over, but the first voice, a higher, younger one, was steadily getting more and more frustrated. The second, lower and viciously caustic, was baiting him.

" Nisam započeti borbu. Pokušao sam napraviti prijatelje s novim narodima."

The first nation sounded like he was pleading, now, and Andrew couldn't help but feel a pang for him – someone ought to step in and stop the fight, before it got out of hand. He strode towards the corner. He shouldn't get involved in other countries' diplomatic disputes, especially if it were to turn violent, but he couldn't just _leave_ it –

Andrew was shocked as the nations in question turned the corner themselves, almost smacking into him. They barely noticed, standing almost profile, nose-to-nose, shouting at each other in their respective languages.

The second voice, the caustic, baiting one, belonged to a tall boy with very dark hair and olive-toned Slavic features. He was glaring – but only out of one eye. The other was covered by a simple, black silk eye patch; it looked elegant, and only reminded Andrew of a pirate for a moment, before he could quash the thought. The boy looked absolutely livid.

The first voice, the one that had been pleading before and had seemed so frustrated, ended up belonging to none other than Danica. The Croatian noticed Andrew first, skidding to a halt and eyes widening in surprise.

The other kid turned in the direction of Danica's surprised glance. Emotions flitted across his face too fast to make out – rage, surprise, revulsion, then a slow, smirking conceit.

"Oh, we were just talking about you," he said quietly, smiling in a roguish manner. His voice was like oil across stone, catching Andrew for a moment before sending an unpleasant shiver up his spine. The boy didn't notice, or perhaps just ignored it, instead reaching out a hand for Andrew to shake – he did, and the grip was powerful and warning, a test, one Andrew returned with ample force. The boy pulled away, smile hardening.

"I'm Marko Javonovic, the personification of the nation of Serbia. I take it you've already met Croatia?"

Andrew nodded hesitantly, not liking the atmosphere. There was a serious dispute going on between the two, and even if he didn't understand it, he could feel the danger. And it unsettled him that Danica was in danger.

"Yes, I have. I'm Andrew Kirkland-Jones, the British –"

"-Virgin Islands, yes, I heard that you'd be coming today," Serbia said charmingly. "I wanted to be the first to welcome you here, but –" His voice hardened considerably. "I suppose Croatia got here first. And he's obviously already turned you against me."

Andrew blinked a few times. "Um… I don't even know you so –"

He was interrupted by another loud blast of some other language from Danica, which was returned by Marko in English.

"Why don't you speak so everyone can understand you?" Marko sneered. "So you can tell Andrew, here, how you're using him."

Danica's eyes widened in shock. "I wouldn't! Zajebavati, Marko, I wanted to make friends." His gaze narrowed furiously. "It's not all about you! It's not a plot. Just move the hell on, because me and Renata have – and so has everyone else."

Andrew didn't understand why, but that shut Marko up. He went white as the stars on Andrew's dad's flag and the crosses on his mum's, and lowered his glare into something hateful and poisonous.

"You'll understand, Croatia. The world of independence is cruel – so many bad things can happen to you, and you're powerless to stop it."

Marko spun on his heel and marched back inside.

Andrew stared after him, half-afraid that he was going to come back and continue yelling, or maybe hit someone, but nothing happened. Everything was dead silent, even Danica, who was standing straight and still – no, no he wasn't. Andrew took a closer look, and noticed his clenched fists were shaking; his whole body was.

"Danica…?"

"He doesn't mean it," Danica said dully, staring at the ground.

Andrew peered at him in concern, hand reaching out but not touching him. "Doesn't mean what? Is everything alright, Danica?" Well, obviously it wasn't alright, but Andrew didn't know what else to say.

"He just needs someone to count on. He needs a friend…" Danica murmured, unconvinced, a small hitch in his voice. "That's the only reason he's like this. He's lonely. Since… since Ren and I left."

Andrew frowned. "Still, he shouldn't pick on you. You didn't turn anyone against anyone. Besides, I'd hate him regardless." It was a rash thing to say, but true, Andrew decided.

Danica shook his head vehemently, not looking up. "Don't hate him. Too many people hate him. They don't know him. I didn't want to fight with him, but I just get so _mad_ and so does he, and… and… " Danica's voice hitched. "B-but he was just so mean and he told me I was making friends with you just to turn you against him and he was saying things before about never being able to have anyone who actually wants to be close to me."

He looked up and met Andrew's eyes for the first time since Andrew walked in on him and Marko. He was crying very quietly.

So Andrew didn't think anymore and folded Danica close to his chest and let the boy cry into his neck. They stood together for a long time, warm like that.

* * *

TRANSLATIONS:

"...Ja sam ga imao do ovdje sa svojim igrama. Prestati igrati nevin. Mi smo svi bili žrtve!"

- ... I've had it up to here with your games. Stop playing innocent. We've all been victims

" Заустави дипломатске срање! То је твоја кривица–"

Stop the diplomatic crap! This is your fault-

" Nisam započeti borbu. Pokušao sam napraviti prijatelje s novim narodima."

I did not start a fight. I tried to make friends with the new nations


End file.
